by Lisa Kumar
He slipped a finger under her chin and gazed into her eyes. “I’ll take great pleasure in proving you wrong about your resolution.” With that, he stepped away from her, and his arms fell to his side.
She breathed an internal sigh of relief and put half the kitchen between them before considering what he’d said. Oh, she was sure he would have a lot of fun smashing her resolve into tiny, little pieces. That was if she was actually gullible enough to fall for his seductions. Though he was tempting, it’d be wrong on so many levels.
Now to get him talking about something else. He’d said he was banished, but there had to be more to the story than that. “Why are you here? I know you’ve been banished, but what are you supposed to do while you’re here? Surely not live like a hobo?”
Chapter 7
Hobo? It took Eamon a moment to bring up an image of what that word usually represented, and he found he didn’t like it one bit. “Hobo?” he asked softly, a hint of menace in his voice.
Caralyn bit her lip, looking gratifyingly nervous. Lust shot straight to his groin, and he wanted to lurch across the room to her. Her eyes widened, and he ruthlessly crushed the urge. No one would have such a hold over him ever again.
“Well, hobos are vagrants, if you didn’t know. But I don’t think hobos are normally this sexy.” A look of horror flitted over her face, but she kept going on. “Maybe you’d pass as an escapee from a Renaissance Faire? People might wonder what’s up with those ears, though.”
He stopped her babbling. “I know what a hobo is.” She found him sexy? What a useful piece of information.
A charming flush coated her cheeks, and she said, “Oh.”
Charming? His mouth almost puckered at the sour sensation the term left. Such words weren’t in his vocabulary. What was wrong with him? Then it dawned. Nothing was. Given all that had happened, he could be excused for feeling a bit out of sorts. It was just a pity, and an indignity, that a human was here to see him being thrown off-center.
“So if the life of a hobo isn’t for you, what are you supposed to be doing? Saving human women and then insulting them?”
He snorted and leaned his hip against the countertop. At times, she was amusing for a human. “Hardly.”
“I didn’t think so. It’s hardly your type of role.”
Lifting a brow, he asked, “What? You mean I can only embrace chaos, death, and destruction?”
She nodded. “That sounds more likely.”
She had a point. “Maybe. But I can cause none of those on Earth without severe penalties.”
Caralyn shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other before shuffling closer to the doorway that led to the living room. Casting a wary glance at him, she asked, “Which would be?”
“Torture.” He shrugged as if the whole conversation was starting to bore him. “Death. Take your pick. It’s not something I want to tempt fate with, since in this case, I know just who and what would play fate.” Aistiane and Talion. “And I’m trying to avoid them.”
“I see,” she said, nodding as if she understood exactly what he was talking about.
For some reason, her calm acceptance spurred a rush of anger. “No, you don’t. You can’t possibly understand what it’s like to lose your land, your people.”
She remained quiet for a few seconds, undoubtedly picking her words. “I don’t fully understand. That’s true, but I can imagine.”
“I’m not looking for sympathy,” he said sharply, fury itching like a rash under his skin. He wrestled his anger under some semblance of control, but the thin strand was so threadbare, it was close to snapping in half.
She backed away another step and held out a defensive hand. “I know, and I’m trying not to offer it. I merely want to understand.”
“Why?” To satisfy her curiosity because he was some foreign creature to her? Damn her for sounding so rational. He didn’t want to be studied. He wanted to be feared. It meant he was in control, and he wore that familiarity like a mantle. Sometimes it was the only thing that gave him any comfort, though it was of a cold kind that had long ago stolen any warmth within him. Still, the tradeoff was more than fair. He was strong, not weak. Emotion and conscience didn’t rule him.
Caralyn cocked her head to the side, staring at him. “Besides wanting to know what brought you here since you’re staying with me? Well, if I have any chance of helping you, I need to know your purpose here. Is your banishment permanent?”
All surprisingly good questions — none he knew the answers to, however. That infuriated him almost more than anything else. He was operating blind in this world, and he despised that feeling. “I don’t know.”
She blinked. “You don’t?”
Eamon stalked to the table and slammed his hands down on the top. “Are you deaf or just stupid?”
After startling, Caralyn appeared wordless for a while, her mouth opening and closing. Then she stood straighter. “I’m neither. You know you’re definitely not going to get into my pants with flattery like that.”
Before he could work out that latest expression, she slapped her hand against her forehead and muttered, “Why do I keep saying things like that? I’m going over the edge. I just know it.”
A slow smile spread over his face. “What edge, and did I push you over it?”
She glanced up from between her fingers. “Yes. Yes, you did. And I hope you’re happy about it.”
The aggravation in her tone caused his smile to grow even wider. It was quite fun to drive her over “that edge,” whatever that meant, though he suspected it had to do with insanity. However, the stirring of his blood reminded him of another edge he’d like to drive her over. Could he make her scream and writhe in pleasure beneath him? Undoubtedly. But within the next few days? That remained to be seen.
He gazed at her through lowered lids. “We can rake my past over tomorrow. Maybe we should retire to bed?” Hopefully together.
That made her jerk up her head, and she groaned. “Yeah, about that. I only have one bedroom, which I obviously sleep in, so you’ll have to take the couch in the living room.”
He was being relegated to the sofa like some dog? That couldn’t be allowed.
Sauntering toward her, he called up all his skills of seduction. If he wanted, he could put the notion of sleeping with him in her mind. At most, it was a weak compulsion spell that didn’t force one to act on their desire, which already had to be there. The spell, however, did make it more likely she’d loosen her inhibitions. But when he had her, and have her he would, it’d be completely free of magic. He wanted to enjoy her in every way while he worked her out of his blood. Using any type of magic would cheapen the experience — or more likely the experiences.
She tensed, looking ready to bolt through the exit at any moment. Admirably or stupidly — he couldn’t decide which — she held her ground. Even when he came up behind her, she did little more than twitch, which made his groin jerk in return.
“I could sleep with you,” he whispered huskily in her ear.
She laughed nervously and inched away from him. “Uh, no. That wouldn’t be a good idea.”
Ah, she’d allowed him the perfect angle to take this further. “Why not?”
“Why not?” she parroted back to him, the disbelief patent in her voice. “I’d think it’d be stunningly clear!”
He followed her retreat. “Have you considered that our differences may make it very mutually satisfying?”
Whirling around, she gaped at him. “You mean that you’re a murderer and I’m not? That you think you’re vastly superior while I’m the dirt beneath your feet? I don’t see how that could make sleeping with you a life-changing experience — at least not in a good way.”
When phrased like that, he almost winced. Thankfully, he lacked the required heart to do so. “I don’t sleep with dirt.”
“Really? You fooled me, then.” She stomped to the table, but her angry march couldn’t disguise how she trembled. With quick hands, she gathered up the plate
s and set them in the sink. The bowls soon followed. She ignored him and set to scrubbing the dishes before putting them into ... what was that contraption again? Ah, a dishwasher, yes.
Her movements displayed the elegant lines of her arms. Though she wore long sleeves, they were close-fitting ones that hinted at the wonders that lay beneath. What could he say? He loved beautiful arms on a lady. And it seemed she had quite the pair on her.
He took in the rest of her body. Though she wasn’t as tall as his typical conquests, she looked soft without being overblown. She had curves in all the right places. And they’d be his, all his. His hands involuntarily flexed at that notion.
The pesky thought he was becoming a bit too fixated on bedding her harped at the back of his mind. He dismissed the concern. After all, he’d been without a female for far too long. What else did he have to look forward to at the moment? Precious little, it seemed.
Caralyn sighed, still not glancing his way. “Why don’t you go sit down in the living room while I finish up here?”
As if he’d make it that easy for her and spoil his fun. “I like the view here.”
Not replying, she reached over the sink and flipped a switch. A terrible, grating sound roared from the sink.
He jumped a good three inches. His heart also took a similar leap. At least Caralyn hadn’t seen his display. Scowling at the sink, he asked, “What is that horrible racket?”
“The garbage disposal. It chops up the uneaten food, which gets flushed down the drain.”
A handy invention. Sometimes, humanity’s ingenuity actually surprised him, not that he’d admit it out loud. “Pity it’s so noisy.”
“The drawback of using it,” she said, turning sideways to grab a towel hanging from the microwave’s handle and drying her hands. She took a deep breath and faced him. “I’m really tired. Let’s get you settled on the sofa and call it a night.”
“I’d much rather be situated in your bed.”
She rubbed a hand over her forehead and closed her eyes for a moment. “Please stop saying things like that.”
“Why? It’s true.” He strode over to the table, which brought him that much closer to her.
“Because it’s not appropriate.”
He couldn’t be bothered with such trivial things. “You think that worries me?”
“You? No. But it’s another story for me.”
“Are you saying you’re a prude?”
“For having morals?” she said, planting her hands on her shapely hips.
Morals were overrated, but he appreciated she didn’t indiscriminately give herself to just anyone. “For turning my advances down. Not many women would. You know I will sleep with you.”
Crimson stained her cheeks. “Excuse me?”
“Why resist? It won’t change the outcome.” Of that, he was sure.
“You have a mighty big ego. Unless you’re planning to use force?” she asked, her voice tight and all color leeching from her face.
A part of him recoiled, and a nauseated feeling swam about his stomach. That was something he’d never do to anyone. While he might delight in showing people their place in life, he’d never use that extreme degradation to do it. There were too many other methods that could be used to achieve his ends. Not even the lowest animal deserved that pain and humiliation. “Not force. I’ve never resorted to that and never will.” With a smug grin, he swept a hand downward to indicate his body. “Besides, I don’t need force.”
For a few moments, Caralyn just stared at him before relief seemed to flood her body. Her stiff stance relaxed, and she no longer appeared ready to bolt out of her skin. “Thank goodness for that.”
An uncomfortable sensation pricked at him. It felt suspiciously like guilt, something he rarely experienced and only in small quantities. For some reason, the remembrance of how he’d threatened to have one of his men rape Maggie, Talion’s new wife, returned with alarming clarity. He certainly hadn’t meant it, though Maggie couldn’t have known that. Frowning, he tried to rip that memory from his mind, but it refused to budge.
Why he was remembering this now, anyway? It was done and over with. Empty threats might scare at the time but, in the long run, didn’t do any harm. Other than the slap he’d dealt Maggie, she’d not received any ill treatment at his hands. Well, except he did try to kill her, but that was what war came down to. As he gazed at Caralyn, he somehow knew she wouldn’t agree with that assessment.
Who cared about that, though? He wasn’t in the habit of pleasing people, and he wasn’t about to start now. Sending Caralyn a dark smile, he said, “When a woman gives herself to me, she does it entirely of her own free will. Never doubt that.” His words were a promise and an assurance.
How unfortunate that she didn’t take them as such. “Good for them, but if you think I’ll ... No, just no. So not happening.”
We’ll see about that. “The least you can do is let me sleep in your bed. No touching required. After all, I’m new to your world. I may have nightmares that need comforting.”
“If you want my bed that badly, you can have it.”
He noticed her wording. “Ah, but you will be in it, won’t you?”
A sweet smile lit her face, and unease trickled through him before she said, “I’ll be on the sofa. You can sleep with Archie. He’s fine company and can offer you all the comfort you want or may need.”
Clever little human. Though a bit annoyed, he couldn’t but help be amused and even impressed by her quick wit. She was a charming mix of awkwardness and grace, of humor and reserve. He loved a woman who could use her mind and present somewhat of an enigma.
Sending her his own charming grin, he walked around the table to her. “I couldn’t possibly turn you out of your bed.” Then a distasteful thought hit, and he grimaced at the still sleeping dog. “Archie doesn’t truly sleep on the bed, does he?”
“You bet he does.”
He gave an inward sigh. Just the answer he’d been dreading, but it could be worked around. “If you consent to share the same bed, I’ll let Archie stay.” In the room, not the bed.
She raised a brow. “You’ll let him stay?”
At that moment Archie woke up and shuffled over to Caralyn. Butting his head against her leg, he looked at her, and she muttered, “Some protector you are.”
Eamon felt an unwitting smile curve his lips. “I can be generous toward you both.”
“I think I get to decide where Archie stays, not you.”
Not if he could help it. “How about we compromise?”
“I’m surprised you know that word.”
“It’s in my vocabulary, but I admittedly don’t use it often.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
“You appear to know me quite well.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he wished he could swallow them. They struck too close to the truth. And the way he was teasing her? That was something he rarely did with anyone, especially over the last several hundred years. He might want to bed her, but that was no reason to act so out of character.
“I’m doing my best to treat you as a dangerous sociopath, so that’s telling.”
It took Eamon a minute to sift through Aistiane’s word bank to locate the meaning of that word. Should he be offended that Caralyn thought him without a conscience or a heart? Though, truthfully, those descriptions fit him quite well, even if they hadn’t when he’d been young. “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think I’m a true sociopath.”
“Oh, that solves all my worries.”
He smiled at the sarcasm in her voice. She was smart enough to not merely accept his word on it. “Let us both forget our concerns tonight.” He smothered a fake yawn and let his eyelids grow heavy. “Truth be told, you are quite safe from my advances tonight. I fear I’m too exhausted to act on them. What I truly desire is a place to bathe off the grime and then a soft bed on which to lay my head. Show me where this bedroom is.”
Indecision flickered across her face. Her shoulders slump
ed, and she seemed to arrive at some kind of conclusion. “Would it kill to say ‘please?’”
A jolt of triumph at her capitulation flowed like sweet wine through him. “I wouldn’t expire on the spot, but it’d cause physical pain.”
“I bet it really would,” she said, her lips twitching.
Their shared humor fist-punched him in the gut. What was he doing? This banter had to stop. It was much too friendly and ... revealing. He didn’t let other elves close, so why would he want to develop a camaraderie with her? On the other hand, if he earned her trust, she’d be more apt to help him with whatever he might need. That might pay off handsomely in the bedroom.
He had to strike a balance of showing who he really was and whom she’d want him to be. “That’s why I never use the noxious word.” There, still snarky and yet truthful. A good blend.
Shaking her head, she motioned for him to follow her into the living room. “The room is down this hallway. As you can see, it’s the only hallway.”
“I could probably navigate your apartment, blindfolded, after a few hours.”
“Yeah, probably,” she said, not sounding particularly concerned about his observation. With Archie at her heels, she stopped in front of a slightly ajar door and pushed it open. Archie sailed right in. Eamon frowned. That dog was going to be a thorn in his side.
Flicking on the light switch, Caralyn stepped into the room. She lurked near the door as if afraid to let him in, which she probably was. Eamon nudged her aside and slipped past her. He took in the decent-sized room. Its blue and gray color scheme should’ve created an icy feeling, but the space contained a warmth that was uniquely Caralyn. He inwardly sneered at himself.
Listen to him — uniquely Caralyn?
He didn’t know her well enough to say something so outlandish, so fluffy, that it nearly made bile rise in his throat. Just in time, her voice ripped him away from his thoughts of being sick.
“That’s the bed. Help yourself to it. The bathroom is through that door.” She pointed to a door on the left. “There’s also a half bath in the hallway, but I’m afraid you’ll have to bathe or shower in here.” Her tone said that she was unhappier with that fact than she expected him to be.